


Crayola Nontoxic

by oxitocyn



Category: Original Work
Genre: A Lot of Gay, Abuse of Authority, Assisted Suicide, Body Horror, Body Paint, Color Metaphors, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Cults, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Feedback probably needed, Incomplete, Just gonna hold my dog and cry, Lots of problems, Mental illnes not handled properly, Multi, Murder, Serial Killer, Serial Killers, Suicide, Therapists, Things i probably shouldnt write about, Unedited trash, except the consent there is extremely dubious, i dont know what im doing, im sorry, inappropriate uses of paint, patient-doctor confidentiality is probably not withheld, probably, slightly at least, when you get your friend to tag shit for you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxitocyn/pseuds/oxitocyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have your superheroes, saviors and law-abiding citizens.</p><p>You have everything that's right but I wrote everything that is wrong and manifested it into one person: Rikki Rosefield.</p><p>She's the epitome of psychotic and it all started from a little mishap her rainbow-haired friend made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which girls are cats

**RIKKI.**

Hickory Dickory Dock. Tick Tock goes the clock. Oh Mr. Mousey you won’t make it in time. I’ll step on your tail. I’ll crack your neck. I’ll grab you by the ears and shake you around till’ you squeal. You won’t make it there before one o'clock. Oh no dearest mouse you cannot make it at all. I don’t want an infestation. I don’t want this place to manifest the lowest creatures of earth. Your beady eyes are soulless. There shan’t be a possibility of any guilt. Just come near and close and actually die _die_ . I’ll call someone who might want your soon-to-be taxidermied pelt. Come here my new acquaintance and have some cheese. It’ll be a _snappy_ party I swear. Please don’t scrabble your claws on the floor. It’s distracting. You don’t need to run back to your hole just yet. You still haven’t made it to that darnest clock.

Now I have to get you myself you. The poor old Cat has been sick. This isn’t your famous orange tabby that might have a bellyache from lasagne. No no Mr. Mouse _my_ Cat just seems upset.  The bleached Cat just sitting by the windowsill looking out longingly. She’s my Cat. I don’t think she entirely wants to be outside.

You should be the one concerned little mouse. She wouldn’t ever kill you something so ‘innocent’. She’d bring you outside and tell you different. Me? Well I’d just have lots of fun with you.

Let’s have tea shall we? I’ll scald you in the pot. I’ll join to sit with you on the floor. I’ll try not to watch where I step. I might just try and find a pair of scissors and dissect you alive. I could watch how quickly your heart would beat in my hand and see what life smells like. I could watch your lungs struggle for air as I pop a hole in them with a shattered rib. I promise it won’t last long. Just make sure you don’t get blood on the floor. Cat wouldn’t appreciate that at all. No Sir she wouldn’t.

The Feline wouldn’t enjoy having to move from her lounge chair. She’s very comfortable after all. She wouldn’t want to hiss her disappointment at me. Especially not when she looks so upset. Maybe she’s waiting for me to pounce because she realized her methods were wrong. She knows that I should kill you and make you suffer. I swear I’ll get you.

“Rikki leave the mouse alone.”

The Cat goes meow. That little upset Cat opens her jowls. That stupid Cat objects. That Cat doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She doesn’t think that you might carry the next plague. That you might tear this office down to bits with all your offspring. She doesn’t note the fact that you’ll make this place smell like shit. Stupid stupid Cat with a baseball brain. I’ll get you soon Mousey. Now scurry fast or I’ll bite off your head.

“Fine. Only because you look so upset,” I mutter.

“Pardon?”

“I said I was going to take it outside.”

“So that’s why you were dangling it by the tail?”

“Who knows Catriona it might have rabies.”

“Very effective.”

Verbal irony. Sarcasm. Some say it’s the tearing of the flesh. If only it were that easy. Cat stays silent and looks out the window. It’s a shame you ran away Mouse. Now I can’t seem to get her attention. I kick my feet onto her desk. Still not looking.

“Isn’t there a drug to fix that, because I’d love to get my hands on those.”

That got her attention. It got frown lines and everything. We’ve got an upset looking mother. Of course I’ll never see Riona as a mother. She’s just a friend nothing more nothing less. We crossed our hearts and everything. That means we can’t be best friends we can’t be enemies and we can’t be fuck buddies. Never can we ever.

“What do you mean by ‘that’?”

She knows the answer. I know the answer. She’s hilarious. Shouldn’t psychiatrists know better? Laugh laugh laugh. She doesn’t.

“The whole boohoo I’m Catriona sympathize for me now because I look dead inside.”

Her face softens but she still looks upset.

“I am dead inside,” she responds.

The mentally unstable therapist. Check. She smoothes her lab coat and pushes her her bangs behind her ear. Maybe she finally has realized she should grow them out.

“What’s wrong Riri, you’re being stupid.”

She shakes her head. It might as well be on the floor at this point. Her bangs fall in front of her face again. She isn’t doing anything about it. Catriona please just move them out of your face. She still isn’t doing anything. I get up from her desk. Her overly glorified desk that reads Dr. Wells M.D. with a computer and a thousand names in it with every mental illness you can imagine. The chair spins behind me. I want to sit back on it and spin but Catriona’s bangs are just. She looks too sad on that lounge chair. Most people would want a hug. I can see her tears. Catriona usually doesn’t cry does she? Tears probably won’t be good for her bangs. I join her on the lounge chair. I move the bangs out of her face and hug her. Pressure supposedly slows the heart and calms people down. She starts shaking her head more. Her bleached hair moves back to her face.

“What the hell is wrong?”

More head shaking. More sobs. No unintelligible babbling. I hold her tighter. Still doesn’t help. I would’ve heard if something had happened to her by now. So things that are important to her… hair colour? Nope. She isn’t materialistic.

“Did something happen to Maria or Akira?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh my gosh was it Maeve? Like I knew you had a date but she didn’t shoot you down or anything? Wait did she go too far?”

She starts babbling unintelligibly. Jackpot.

This is this Cat.

This is is Cat.

This is how Cat.

This is to Cat.

This is get Cat.

This is her Cat.

This is talking Cat.

All I could make out of it was “I don’t know what to do with the body”. Imagine little miss Catriona Wells being a murderer. She’s too innocent. She’s too in love to even plausibly kill Maeve.

The kitty has claws now Mouse. Beware.

The full story is an assisted suicide. Rozerem and Jacky D’s style. A G-rated murder.

“Catriona I promised that I’d be the friend who’d help you hide the dead body. I’ll figure something out I promise. Just. Stop crying. You’re not Catriona right now. Have a snickers or something.”

The Cat doesn’t want the chocolate dear Mousey. It’s a shame you’ll have to eat it all by yourself. I’m sure you’ll manage a death by chocolate anyways.

The clock strikes one and you still haven’t climbed the clock former Mr. Mouse.

  
Hickory dickory dock. Tick tock goes the clock.


	2. In which band aids can't fix everything

**CATRIONA.**

Keys are some dumb shit. They're so little and flat. Who in the world thought ‘hey let's make something small enough to fall down the drain’? Probably someone looking for attention and tell them that they're wrong. They might even tell them to shut up and be so happy that they did such a thing for them; to have a house that's safe. Locks are just another brick wall a criminal needs to leap over, I mean it'd probably be easier for me to kick down this door than to get a key. Criminals are much more aware of shortcuts I suppose, or maybe desperate but still… locks are only for honest people so you're going to have to search for these little bastards in your purse, pocket or bra. Make sure you have these things so people do not try and label you. It's probably best to avoid those things. It might make you feel like the odd man out. It might make you depressed. That'd mean you'd have to come and visit me if you aren't too embarrassed to do so. So you're stuck searching your lab coat desperately through the thousands of pockets that are a waste of time to get one stupid ass key.

So I'm scratching my key against the lock like a drunk. I can't get it in the hole.

I grimace like a child. Apparently I'm throwing my head back as I do so. If anyone saw me in the hallway they'd conclude I'm hysterical, but I'm not. I'm a psychologist I don't need help. You need me. Besides it was a comical thought.

Anyways so this little key isn't going in the lock. It's sliding around aimlessly. The fucker won't go into the lock. It's too thick so I start kicking the door as quietly as I can. Oh no don't draw attention, no that's a bad thing. It's not the wrong door, it's my apartment I'm not breaking in. I have a lab coat that reads M.D. I have the license to do whatever I want.

So, I'm turning the handle and I'm kicking the door and it just won't budge. It could be the wrong key but right now it feels like breaking down the door would work a lot better. It is begging to be broken. It wants to feel like it was used for something, like it was needed to help someone feel better. It just wanted to feel important but instead it's just hanging there, dead as any door can get. It's moving with joy and excitement each time I hit it. Look it's getting a new paint job whenever I punch it. My knuckles are turning it a nice red. It's new and improved and look at how happy it is. I'm fucking jealous of it. I want to scream at a damn door. Would've thought? My kindness should probably stop before I kill it.

This is how I'm searching for another key. Another so small that I never noticed it was in my breast pocket the first time I checked. Sleek and thin enough to fit in the slot. Just one flick of the wrist and  _click_ it's open. The scratched door flies open. The bloody entrance swings out. The dented piece of metal shows my apartment. With a freezer and various other necessities.

There's a small kitchen that has some form of open concept somewhere here. It's supposed to be welcoming just like an open mind.

Just so you know when something is supposed to appeal to your emotions, it doesn't. It's mind over matter, like most other things.

This kitchen wants to banish me. The freezer glares at me but who gives a damn, the whiskey is calling.

Here I am, trudging across the floor to the kitchen with my neighbors underneath me probably annoyed by my loud feet. They're probably trying to sleep downing a couple of pills and I'm going to ruin their sleeping cycle for them. They'll be talking to me the next day about how some stranger made it difficult to sleep or how they couldn't sleep at all so they need a bigger dose. I'll have to deny them and inform them they're drug addicts. Then I'll have to bare their screaming and then write down about how they're don't like being told that something is wrong with them.

So the whiskey comes off the counter. And then it falls to the floor.

There is glass everywhere and the liquid is trying to escape. I've made a mess. I'm trying to clean it up but I'm making a bigger mess. I'm an idiot. What a little fag I am. Picking up the glass just added blood to the ground.

My hands are stinging.

I have to clean it up. Rikki wouldn't be happy to come home to this. I grab some paper towel and it sticks to my hand. It's turning red quickly and soon it's dripping and falling apart and it's just hanging there dead. I killed it. I get the role and I try and cover most of the mess around the glass. The floor is going to be sticky.

My hands are stinging still.

I start to gently pick up the biggest pieces of glass and put them on the counter for now. I'm soaking up more blood and alcohol and it's still a huge fucking mess that I can't fix.

My hands are stinging so much.

I'm here with glass on the counter and on the floor and I'm trying to sweep it up with sweat dripping down my face. Scratch that they're tears, running down my face as I'm cleaning up this glass. I throw it into a plastic shopping bag. I throw that into another shopping bag.

My hands are screaming.

So now I'm making my way down the hallway of my apartment building dripping blood on the floor. My neighbors just turn their heads the other way but they're still trying to look. They're looking for a story to tell their family about how this girl oh she's so sweet and smart and she was walking down the hall with narrowed eyes and she had blood dripping from her hands. Turns out she's crazy now. That's how you'd probably tell your family right? Just to spice up your life?

The glass falls down the chute with a little bit of blood on the handle. It makes the most beautiful ringing noise as it falls. The whiskey still asking to be cleaned up.

My hands are aching.

The paper towel roll is almost empty and mostly just caked in blood. More alcohol is being cleaned up. My cuts are being disinfected once again with blood still running down them and the whiskey is gone.

So I boil water add some soap and put it in a bucket. I scald my hand by dipping in the towel and I scream. If anything hurts you scream. If everything hurts you keep on screaming.

So now there are tears running down my face and my bleeding hands and I'm screaming. I don't need help I'm a psychologist I can deal with this myself.

My hands are burning still.

And now I'm finally bandaging them up with a towel. I'm not a real doctor. I don't know what good for when you scald your hands. I just know that this will leave a scar.

Now I'm finally sitting down with the kitchen still a mess and it screaming at me to leave and I stare at the freezer.

  
I look at Maeve's coffin and I continue crying and screaming.


	3. In which hummingbirds flit

**CATRIONA.**

Just so you know Maeve was a client of mine. I was her therapist. She'd tell me everything about her life and I'd just listen to the honeyed tone. She had a shitty life. She had a close family that really loved her though. She didn't see it always but, she still loved them very much.

So imagine this girl coming into my office with a big cheery smile. Maeve was just beautiful and radiant. She had this giant mess of hair that fell onto her back. Instead of having sunken in eyes and cheeks she had these beautifully bright hazel eyes. Before her skin being grey she was the most beautiful shade of caramel, so imagine Miss Hazeleyes sitting down in a lounge chair saying sup’ Doc.

For the amount of smile she had on her face, I wanted to tell her to go away, that she didn't need me today. I wanted to tell that smiley girl a lot of things, but all I could say was greetings Miss Bloomwood. I'm so stiff and she's so loose. I'm too scared I might kiss her or hug her and tell her everything is going to be perfect and that I promise her that, but there is a strict no touch policy here. The secretaries know that Rikki is the exception.

So I'm asking Miss Caramel what's wrong and she says that she has finally done it, but I don't know what she's talking about. I look through my notes. The first thing I look for is if she was a virgin or not. She definitely was. She used to be called a prude so much. She claimed she was heteromantic. Thanks god for ruining any of my chances with her.

Miss Bloomwood says that she wrote her suicide note still wearing that manic smile, that torturous and painful and ugly smile.

There's a bird in the window. A small little bird with big wings and hollow bones. A bird with beautiful wings. They flapped so hard and so quickly. _Bat bat bat_ all within a quarter of a second.

“Catriona,” someone demands.

He has a little red patch on his neck. It's like it should almost be his tie or something to make him look fancy. There's also an emerald overcoat to match. I think only he is able to pull it off. Most people would look like they're ready for Christmas.

“Riona,” they snap.

His tongue is flitting out of his mouth quick like a snake’s. It hits the bell shaped raspberry flower. A perennial. Those could look really nice in the apartment.

“Cat,” a voice whispers.

The hummingbird has the accuracy of a chameleon’s tongue. It's quick and rapid and this hummingbird is beautiful. Ruby - throated hummingbird. The only species that is native to Ontario. They're dazingly beautiful.

“Ms. Wells?” She whimpers.

Maeve catches my attention.

“Yes?”

She looks relieved. She isn't pleased anymore. The smile faded.

“I like the violet,” she tries.

I nod in agreement. Running my fingers through my now mentioned hair.

I ask her to show it to me. She doesn't know that I mean the note, so I ask again. She hands it to me.

_To my dearest family,_

_“_ I'm sorry Catriona I know I really shouldn't be doing this but life is too much right now and I've needed a break. I've always needed a break, a constant break. You should know there are times when you just want something to end. You understand my problems. You know that _this_ is okay.”

_I'm deeply sorry to bring this upon you. I think God would agree this is the right time to do this._

_“_ Suicide isn't a bad thing it gives yourself the closure of knowing how you're going to die. It gives you the satisfaction of knowing that you're going to feel better. It gives you the chance to feel so great about yourself. It gives you the self worth that I've been missing for a long time.”

_Life has been pretty hard recently. We all know that I set a murderer free._

“I saw the look of excitement you had on your face when I came in smiling like this. Imagine most people getting to see me like this in my last hours? They'd be okay if I died happy at least.

_People have been harassing me a lot over this even in the media. I believe they called me the keeper of the bird sanctuary. It was almost clever._

“My death wouldn't haunt people forever. I was my own cause of sadness. I let people get to me. I was whiny. I let people who I don't even know bother me. It made me. Myself. Cut my skin like a little teenage emo kid.”

_It's like they're the jailbirds and I have the key to setting them free. I had the law degree. Nobody realized it was my obligation to try and help someone without judgement. I got death threats and hate mail for a long time now._

_“_ I've done a lot to hurt myself Catriona and you know this. I've tried so hard to bring pride back into my name but it didn't work. It doesn't work still. I know you've tried your hardest but from all my money spent on this I learned that killing myself isn't a bad idea.”

_It has hurt me a lot so I regret to inform you that I killed myself. I still love you guys very much and whatever you do please do not bury me and don't have a huge ceremony. I do not want my grave to be found. I also want you to burn any of my things from my career. Especially the case files. Nobody is to find them. Most of all do not mourn. Celebrate._

_Signed,_

_Maeve P. Bloomfield_

“Well Maeve that's selfish. You'll be hurting a lot of people.”

“I know that's why I took the time to visit them all recently.”

“So I guess it's soon then?”

“I don't know I haven't really thought it through…”

“Maeve, do you want to get a drink later? In celebration of your happiness of course. Yknow just two girls having fun as friends and stuff?”

“I'd love to, Cat."


	4. In which Sleeping Beauty is actually purple

**CATRIONA.**

It took forever to get through the last of my clients for today. I could imagine them, just going home and being upset because even their therapist won’t listen to them. It’s not that I wasn’t listening. I just wasn’t taking notes. I was going oh my fucking god Maeve.

I can remember her and her family living in the countryside with the biggest grin. She was so happy I could die and now she isn’t. Now she’s the one who’s dying. Funny how the tables have turned.

You could imagine how slow the walk to the apartment was. _Suicide_. That’s the most selfish and idiotic thing Maeve could’ve thought of. This girl that you love decides to say nobody would care. This girl that you will miss, asks you to celebrate. She’s asking you to glorify what she is committing to. You love her so much and you’re just going to have to fucking accept it.

She doesn’t consider your shit but you’ll just accept it anyways. It’s not like she remotely gives a fuck about me anyways. This damn heteromantic girl will never think of you like that so just move on she’s going to die anyways. I might as well stand her up. Maybe she’ll die sooner. This being over sooner with might be better.

I have to walk up this goddamn street with a million bodies buzzing around walking in grey with their grey lives and their grey days in their grey houses and I have to walk. I have to walk and get ready to go to a bar with a girl who’s going to die anyways. All these people who think they’ve got so much on their plates because they have to make their deadlines, meanwhile I have a date with a girl who shall be dead.

They don’t have any sort of shit to deal with. They have blue skies ahead. I have a funeral ahead. They should be happy I’m dealing with this for them. It’s not like I’d need help dealing with this either, after all I am a psychologist.

So now I’m walking through these streets with my snobbish posture because right now I get to be better than them. I _deserve_ to feel better than them. I just need this moment to look like I’m queen of the world. I unbutton my coat a little to make people think I’m royalty with the Wells M.D. name tag sticking out of my clothes. It parts the sea of grey and on my way to do a grave deed.

This girl that I think I love will be waiting for me soon. For me to get dolled up and try and impress her. I’m still going to try and win her over. I’m still going to try and let her feel loved. I’m going to try and make her regret what she’s doing even if she’s some heteromantic prude.

Now here I am opening the door to the apartment and there is Rikki. She’s waggling her eyebrows at me smiling gleefully.

“Your girlfriend is here Vi,” she laughs her gorgeous laugh.

My eyes widen and I look around, and there is Maeve scratching the nape of her neck.

“I’m sorry did I startle you Miss Wells? I didn’t mean-I honestly-I’m sorry. It’s just we didn’t have…” and she trails off with her hand now running through her hair.

Her hair falling down her back and over her golden shoulders and across her chest and a bit over her left eye all curled. It bounces as she does her cute little stutters. She looks away from me and I’m just looking at this girl in this beautiful cocktail dress and little black flats with bows. She’s playing with her hair and I notice a little manicure on her short nails. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to jump her bones. She was a princess in midnight purple that would just look so much better on the floor. She doesn’t want that though. Especially not from me.

I know I’m blushing but I’m not going to hide it. Rikki looks over her shoulder and watches the girl who is standing in the middle of the living room and back and smiles at me again.

“I’ll leave so you can fuck her. Just text me when you’re done or something. Also I think you better top straight girl because look at that loser. She’s so shy she doesn’t even know what she’s doing here right now,” she tried to say as quietly as possible.

Even if Maeve could hear what she said she’d still wouldn’t notice because she looks like she made the biggest mistake in the world. Rikki knows well enough now to leave.

I tell Maeve to have a seat. I tell her she looks ravishing. I didn’t tell her she looks so bang-able and that she shouldn’t go home on her own. She still looks shy. She still looks like she isn’t going to say much. Who on earth would send such a girl a death threat?

“I noticed we didn’t have plans to go anywhere… so um I-um I tried calling your house. I mean I didn’t know where you live,” she stutters. She runs her hands through her hair and looks at me. “Well I mean now I do… fuck. OKAY SO your business card has a home number I can reach you at so basically I called because I figured you’d be done soon,” she says firmly. “Actually you were awfully late finishing now that I think of it but anyways your girlfriend I guess picked up the phone and told me she doesn’t know when you’re coming back but that I could come here and wait for you.”

She spoke her words so quickly and then I picked out a little tidbit.

“Rikki?” I ask.

“Who”

“The girl you were talking about she wasn’t my girlfriend.”

“Really she’s awfully pretty…”

“Firstly she isn’t as pretty as you look right now and also Rikki is a childhood friend. We made a pact so that could never happen. It was something along the lines of being friends no matter what. That means we can’t be best friends we can't be enemies we can’t even be fuck buddies and we definitely can’t be dating.”

Maeve finally sits down on a chair and straddles it and puts her arms on the back to rest her head on. Her midnight purple bangles fall down to her elbow. You can imagine just view of cleavage you be getting from this halter neckline.

“Tell me more,” she whines.

“What is there to tell?”

“I dunno? If you could be something either than friends with her would you fuck her?”

I blush. I would never think of Rikki as more than just a friend. She’s just Rikki the little girl who was making a kid eat dirt on the playground. You can’t have sex with a little girl who might make you eat dirt.

“Look a little miss asexual talking about sex,” I divert. When you point out someone’s characteristics they will probably become defensive. Most of my psych credits taught me how to control the direction of a conversation. It comes in handy when you don’t want to tell her that you want to bend them over the kitchen counter just once before they die because then you won’t have a chance.

“You didn’t answer me,” she puffs.

Shit.

“Now that I’m thinking of dying it almost seems intriguing. Like what is the big deal about sex I mean really? What’s so appealing about having such primal instincts when people don’t think of themselves as animals? All I know is I sure as hell don’t want to be known as the girl who died a virgin.”

I feel like taking advantage of a girl who’s going to kill herself is somewhere on the list of sins.

“Are you coming on to me?”

“Am I being rejected?”

“Well I mean even if I wanted to bag you I wouldn’t because you’re dressed in… well… you’re dressed in that and I’m just like weee isn’t my turtleneck so sexy?”

“But they’d be on the floor and plus you have a labcoat. That’s like a kink or something. The virgin in this room doesn’t even know what she’s talking about.”

“You don’t want to do this. As you ur psychologist I advise you not to.”

This is great just great. Im turning her down. Im turning her down because the only chance I have with her is if she was about to die. She’s doing this just for herself and doesn’t even ask me directly. She doesn’t even ask me if I like her. She just doesn’t want to be the girl who died a virgin.

“But I want to do something I thought I’d never do before I died. Think of this as something on my bucket list.”

Great so now I’m just a little conquest. Im only here to do something for her, not with her. Amazing.

“Maybe a little whiskey will help you think this through Maeve. I’ll make it special just for you.”

“Riri, I really want to do this.”

And I’m making her a whiskey.

“Why don’t you masturbate or something? Make a night of it to make yourself feel good.”

And I'm adding the powder.

“I’m pretty sure I can’t be turned on. Doing it by myself would be stupid. I want to see how it would make you feel.”

And I’m giving it to her. She takes a sip. I tell her to finish it. I tell her it’s a very calming blend. I tell her it slows everything down. And then she finishes it.

“You really want to do this,’ I ask. She nods. I let my head hang. I tell her this is a big mistake. I tell her I’m sorry. I stare at her empty whiskey glass and I grab her hand. We’re off into the bedroom. We’re in the room I share with Rikki.

I take out my hair and I take off my necklace. I ask her if she’s okay with this.

She nods.

I take off my lab coat and my shirt and ask if this is all right.

She smiles.

I take off my shoes and my socks and my pants and ask her if she’s ready.

She says yes.

I sit her on the bed and I kiss her cheek gently. I ask her if this is the best idea.

She mouths yes and her pulse slows. And I hold her close and I lie her down and I say I love you and I sit there and I wait. Her breathing slows and I wait.

“This is how you try and get out of sex?” she manages.

I laugh a little. I say it was for your own good. I say it was better me than you who did it. Even though she can’t listen to me anymore I told her that she never wanted this. I told her this would’ve made her hate herself. And I hold her. And I feel her body heat start to ebb away and her eyes are starting to sink already.

Now I’m carrying Maeve to the freezer. I lay her on the couch and I’m emptying the freezer frantically. I apologize to her because she will find it too cold. I apologize to her because she might find it a little uncomfortable in there. I promise her that it won’t ruin her makeup; that she’ll still look beautiful.

I’m throwing all this food on the floor and it’s probably going to spoil. They keep on making loud thuds as they hit the floor. I tell Maeve the neighbour’s really won’t mind. I’m trying to lift out the turkey now. It’s supposed to be for thanksgiving but right now I don’t have time to be thankful for anything. It’s frozen to the bottom. I tell Maeve I’ll get it out for her as soon as possible.

So now I’m stabbing at the ice around the turkey with a steak knife. I’m hitting it and hitting it and it isn’t doing shit. No accomplishment has been achieved at all. I’m digging at it with a spoon still nothing. I tell Maeve she might have to wait awhile. I tell her not to go anywhere. I ask her how to unfreeze something. I think I hear her laugh when I said unfreeze. I laugh too. I’m looking for something to melt it I tell her and then an idea pops into my head. I run and grab a hair dryer and I start picking at the ice and melting it and it’s coming free. I pick up the turkey and I throw it at the door.

I tell Maeve it’s ready. I pick her up from the couch and I kiss her cold forehead and carry her to the freezer. I tell her I fixed it up just for her and I put her in. I wish her a goodnight. I text Rikki that Maeve was beautiful.

I picked up the whiskey glass and put it in the sink. I picked up the bottle of sleeping pills and decided I might need some rozerem myself. I only take one. There aren’t too many left now and I might need them for a while. I try and swallow but the pill won’t go down. I start choking.

Now I’m over the sink hacking and coughing and choking and the pill won’t move. My eyes are watering and my throat is closing. I’m drinking water and still nothing. I shove my fingers down my throat and stomach acid rises and so does the pill. The whiskey glass is now covered in my vomit.

I’m still crying and now I’m sobbing and I don’t know why. My whole body is shaking and trembling. My legs collapse from under me and I hit my head on the counter. I fell. Now I’m trying to crawl my way into the bedroom I share with Rikki and my fingers are scratching against the tile. My feet are shaking as I’m trying to push myself along. They’re slipping. I make it to the bedroom. My clothes are on the floor. I’m blinking away blood that’s trickling into my eyes. I fall over again. I start pounding on the floor. I start screaming and moaning and I’m still crying.

Finally, I’m starting to steady myself. I’m pushing myself onto the bed. The mattress is shaking under me. It’s creaking laughing at me.

And now I’m on my bed.

And now I’m in fetal position rocking myself back and forth.

And I’m screaming into my pillow.

I apologize to Maeve for killing her.

**Author's Note:**

> ???idontknowwhattodowiththisughpleaseleavemealone


End file.
